Te Souveins Tu De Ton Ange?
by D. C. Valentine
Summary: Plot is still in progress. I assure you fellow readers, this one is a classic. There is love, lust, scandal, murder, infidelity and Raooul goes to prison.
1. Un

Don't own anything but a few characters and the plot. This goes for the rest of the story.

_**Un**_

Three years have passed since the incident regarding the mysterious Phantom of the Opera. Most of the opera regulars have forgotten the fiasco, and those who do remember have turned the factual events into fictitious tales to pass on for generations upon generations.

It has taken three years to repair the damages to the Opera Populaire. A brand new chandelier had been built, replacing the one that set fire to the theatre during _Don Juan Triumphant._ Most of the cast had fled, never to return even to the vicinity of the Opera Populaire in fear that the Phantom will kill them.

In the meantime, Messieurs Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre have been successful to the highest degree. So many residents of Paris had come to assist in the repairs, and there were so many donations. Firmin once told Andre that he should thank that dreadful Phantom for the popularity, or none of this fame would exist.

The Vicomte de Chagny continued to propose to Christine Daae, and Christine continued to decline, for the Phantom had yet to leave her mind. She _had _accepted his proposal three years ago, and it was really difficult telling him she changed her mind. She promised that once the Phantom was behind her, she would wed him immediately. He continued to wait patiently for her hand.

Signora Carlotta Giudicelli had passed in a most wretched fashion mere months after the fiasco. She was injured in and unknown accident and her wounds had festered. Some say that the wounds were her fault, due to the death of dear Piangi. Her injuries took septic, and the physician was unable to cure her ailments. Paris was filled with anguish when her death was announced. With her death, Christine could finally rise to fame dramatically. There was no longer any competition with the prima donna.

Andre and Firmin had decided to hold a masquerade of the most amiable nature in celebration of the grand re-opening of the Opera Populaire. For a nominal fee, everyone could attend. Those Andre and Firmin knew on a first name basis attended free, including Christine Daae and Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny.

"Doesn't this bring back wretched memories?" Christine asked Raoul as they arrived in an elegant coach bearing the Chagny coat of arms.

"You promised not to bring that up, Christine. You should enjoy yourself instead of delve on ancient history," Raoul replied.

"I've relived those days inside my head over and over again. It's not ancient to me." He kissed her hand softly.

"Do try to forget, my dear. He won't harm you while I live." She smiled weakly. How could she ever forget those moments? How could she forget the boat to the dungeons, and the Phantom himself clad in an elegant black suit and a long black cape? All memories aren't in need of forgetting…

A servant clad in satin finery opened the door of the horse-drawn carriage and assisted Christine out of the coach.

"Miss Daae," he said, bowing to Christine. "Monsieur," he said, bowing to Raoul.

"Well met, Monsieur," Raoul told him, and handed him a gold coin for his kindness. Raoul escorted Christine inside the Opera Populaire to the large foyer, where the masquerade was being held. There were men and women, large and small, clad in varying gowns and suits and elegant masks.

Christine's mask was simple and elegant, with few exotic twists. It was milk white, and matched her gorgeous gown. Raoul's mask was even simpler than Christine's, for his bore no elegant designs. 'Twas simply a black mask that only covered his eyes.

Another servant loudly announced their entrance, and they were immediately surrounded by familiar faces cloaked in elegant masks. There was a man Christine recognized immediately with horror. She had not expected to see him here. She knew the white half mask anywhere.

_What is _he_ doing here?_ Christine thought to herself. Her heart began to race. Who would die with him here? She didn't realize that she was fretting over nothing. She began to fall backwards, almost fainting. It was quite fortunate that Raoul was able to catch her.

"My dear, it is only Monsieur Pierre," Raoul assured, fanning her face with his hand. Some would have thought of this event as comical, at least until they spotted Pierre clad in his attire. Christine smiled weakly. This man wasn't old enough, and his complexion was too fair. His voice was too high and he wasn't as tall as the Phantom. So many things different about him that she hadn't noticed at first!

"I'm terribly sorry. It's the only style I knew I could wear without the fear of matching someone else," said Pierre. He did indeed make a wise choice in choosing the Phantom's outfit, for everyone else was still afraid of the mere sight of the Opera Ghost.

"Apology accepted, Monsieur. Don't worry about me," said Christine, gathering her wits. "You frightened me a little, that's all." He bowed low and departed.

"I'm sorry, Raoul," she apologized sincerely, grasping his right hand in both of hers.

"Don't be. I cannot begin to fathom what horrors you went through." He kissed her gently on the hands that held his own, and smiled. "I'm here to guide you." She smiled at him, and they progressed further into the majestic crowd.

The masquerade began with a lively number, and there wasn't a single soul, save the obedient servants, who were without a partner and alone. Christine dismissed the previous event and discarded the apprehension inside her mind. She danced well with Raoul, a giddy grin upon her face. He couldn't help but smile back, for he rarely saw her this pleased. All around them, everyone was gaily dressed and happy. After a few more numbers similar to the first one, the music slowed to a serenade and the lights dimmed. Before Raoul could take her hand for another dance, Pierre approached once more. Christine was startled by his appearance, but smiled quickly and relaxed.

"May I borrow Miss Daae and take this dance?" he inquired. Raoul stood aside and permitted the dance.

"You shall have my hand, Monsieur Pierre," she said, grinning widely. Raoul grinned fit to split his face. Small crow's feet formed at the corner of his eyes. He enjoyed seeing her happy. She wasn't this happy too often. He watched Pierre lead her off in his white half mask, and then turned to acquire some wine.

He found a servant carrying a tray of White Zinfandel. Raoul took a glass and sipped at it. He scanned the crowd of dancers, spotting Christine immediately. How could he not see her? To him, she was so beautiful she shined gorgeously. He wished she would finally put the past behind her and accept his proposal. He sighed deeply and reminded himself that patience is a virtue.

He noticed something strange about the man Christine was dancing with, something he didn't notice before. He seemed a bit older than Pierre, though not much older than Christine herself. An alarm sounded inside Raoul's mind, though he dismissed it quickly. Maybe it was the light that made him look older.

"How have you been?" Pierre whispered into Christine's ear.

"We've known each other for a year or so, Monsieur. You ask me this like you haven't seen me in years," she whispered back.

"I'm only asking, Mademoiselle."

"Don't ask," she said. "Dance." She smiled wryly. They moved slowly to the music. After a minute or so, she whispered, "I've been quite fine, thank you. The memory of the Phantom of the Opera has just begun to leave my mind."

"I apologize for the horror," Pierre whispered. She took no notice of the strange apology.

"Don't be sorry. You had nothing to do with it."

Raoul was beginning to grow apprehensive. It had been three years, and not so much as a note from the Phantom had been seen. Most thought he had finally passed away with despair. If the Phantom was supposedly dead, why was he so frightened now? He waited patiently for the song to end. Pierre bowed to Christine and retreated, never to be seen again that night.

"Did he say anything to you?" Raoul asked as he led her aside and motioned for a servant. He handed her a small glass of wine, and took a second one.

"He only asked how I was," Christine said. Another song began, and Raoul took her hand to dance once more.

The night passed in the same fashion, with lively and slow songs in abundance. The night celebrating the grand re-opening should have ended fantastically, though, unfortunately, it did not.

In the middle of the final number, a young Madame cried out, startling everyone.

"**Murder**!" She fainted after the statement, and the servants immediately raced to her aid. Raoul and Christine looked at each other, their expressions exchanging a silent apprehensive conversation.

Everyone else crowded around Madame Charlotte as she was being revived. It didn't take long for them to wake her. She sat up and took a sip of water. All of the color quickly left her face.

"Who was murdered?" someone asked. She gathered her wits and spoke the name Raoul feared hearing.

"Monsieur Pierre." Everyone gasped at hearing that name, for they all remembered that he was the one clad in attire similar to that which the Phantom wore. Was it simply coincidence, or did the Phantom set him up? Christine's eyes widened as she realized that the man she danced with was not Pierre, but the clever Opera Ghost. Why didn't she recognize the voice? What exactly was going on?

_I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music._ The voice inside her head haunted her. She knew it anywhere. She shook her head and fell to her knees, massaging her temples. She hoped to rid her mind of the phantom voice.

"What's the matter?" asked Raoul, concerned for the woman he loved.

"He's here," she whispered in fear.

"Who's here?" he asked.

"The Phantom of the Opera." Fear was most unfortunately instilled into all of those attending the masquerade.

"What are we going to do?"

"Will the Phantom kill again?"

"What will happen to all of us?" Andre and Firmin were quick to calm to crowd, though their efforts seemed to be in vain.

Christine took Raoul's hand and led him to the dressing room she had become so familiar with three years ago. She was pleased that they had completely restored it perfectly down to the paintings on the wall.

"Why have you brought me here?" he asked.

"I needed a moment without so many people," she said.

"Why here?"  
"It's a room I became so familiar with three years ago." He embraced her deeply, trying to offer what comfort he could give. Not even he could forget the event in the Phantom's catacombs. She took a seat in front of the vanity and noticed a single red rose with a black ribbon tied around it. She lifted it and admired it deeply, as if studying the intricate petals or the white bead that held the ribbon to the stem.

"Where did that come from?" Raoul asked, noticing the rose.

"It was just lying here," she replied. She knew exactly where it came from. What would he think if she told him that the rose was left by the Phantom for her?

"It's beautiful," Raoul said, taking the rose and admiring it himself, turning it over in his hands. He felt the silk ribbon and smelled the fragrance of the rose, then handed it back. He ran his right hand through his shoulder length auburn hair and knelt next to Christine.

"Shall I have the carriage readied?" he asked.

"For what?" she replied.

"We will be going to supper, of course," he said, smiling. He wanted so much for her to smile back. She didn't smile near as much as she used to. What exactly did the Phantom do to her? He may never know.

"I'd rather stay here a bit longer, if you don't mind. You go on ahead," she said. Raoul thought for a moment, and then stood up.

"If it's your wish, then I'll comply. I'll see you in a few minutes then, I suppose," he said. She nodded. He kissed her softly and made his swift exit. She stole a glance at the mirror to her left. She remembered the mirror not really being a mirror at all, but a door to the dungeons below. It was cracked slightly, and she saw the flickering light of a torch on the other side. She walked to the mirror and peered through, seeing nothing.

"I'm sorry, but he's waiting," she whispered, and left.

She met with Raoul outside the Opera Populaire. She had lost all sense of time, and it must have been rather late.

"It took you long enough," he said impatiently. There's no telling how long he had stood waiting by the coach.

"I'm sorry," she replied. It was all she could say. "Shall we dine now?" There was a faint smile on the corners of his mouth. He was just happy that she was here and not in the Phantom's malevolent grasp. He assisted her inside the coach and then followed closely behind, closing the door behind him. The coachman cracked his whip and they began to move. Raoul grasped her hand in his own, promising her that everything will be okay. She believed him, if only a little bit. She knew the Phantom was capable of killing a thousand men just to get to her, but he would stop at Raoul, knowing that his competition had at last been defeated.

They arrived at Raoul's estate that his late father had passed on to him and were greeted warmly by their maids and cooks and everyone else. Christine bore a weak smile, yet no one was shocked. Everyone knew she rarely smiled, and they never pressed the matter. It upset Raoul many times knowing that he couldn't make the love of his life grin widely. He wondered what her expression would show if the Phantom were with her. He felt a little bit ashamed that he thought she would feel fear with the Phantom, for he never wanted her to be afraid.

She followed Raoul to the large table where everyone could sit to eat. It was there they dined on supper. She ate only half of her meal. She didn't have much of an appetite that night. Raoul ate heartily, having seconds and even thirds. Christine retreated to her personal bedroom, not the one she shared with Raoul. She crawled under the comfort of the blanket and sheet and drifted into sleep, dreaming of the Angel of Music singing songs in her head.

Raoul came in and kissed her cheek, bidding her goodnight as she slept soundly. He retreated to the much larger room he called his own, and sat at a desk. He lit a candle for illumination, and simply sat at the desk. He pondered many things. Would Christine leave him for the Phantom? Would she dare consider the Phantom after what had happened? Despite what many may think, but the event in the dungeons was fresh on his mind. He could have lost her. She could have lost him! It only would have taken one more tug from that man with the distorted face. He would have lost consciousness and then felt the cool touch of Death's hands upon him.

He shrugged his thoughts away, hoping to rid himself of the memory of that fateful night. He blew out the fading candle. He changed into his night clothes and pulled back the comforter and crawled into his large bed. He tossed and turned, and it was nigh unto morning before he actually was able to drift asleep, though his rest was not very long.

He woke up, deciding that sleep was simply unfeasible. He dressed quickly and combed his shoulder length auburn hair, making sure that not a single hair was out of place, and that it curled inward at the bottom. After confirming that he looked absolutely dashing, he retreated down a flight of stairs to the dining area, where the table was being set for the consumption of food. Christine had not yet woke from her slumber, and he knew better than to wake her.

_And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…_


	2. Deux

_**Deux**_

Raoul watched as Christine approached the table. He could tell she had just enough sleep, for she did not seem to drag to the table.

"Did you sleep well, love?" he asked. She cringed at hearing him call her that, though not enough to be noticed.

"I slept soundly," she replied, failing to inform him that she dreamt throughout the night of the Angel of Music. She took a seat next to Raoul, for his seat was located at the end of the table.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," asked one of the cooks who had roamed into the room.

"Yes, Madame?" Raoul replied.

"What will you dine on for breakfast?"

"Surprise me." The cook retreated to the kitchens, where an enormous breakfast would be prepared.

"How did you sleep?" she asked Raoul. He shrugged, though not implying that he did not know.

"I had about three hours sleep," he said. She raised her eyebrows in concern.

"Why?" she asked. Raoul shrugged again, this time acknowledging that he did not know.

"I tossed and turned all night. It was nearly dawn when sleep claimed me."

"You should go back to sleep," she told him. He shook his head.

"I can't now, or I won't fall asleep," he said. She yawned deeply, and stretched her arms up and out.

"What are our plans for today, Raoul?" she asked.

"We will discuss that after we consume our hearty breakfast that the cooks are now bringing out," he said, smiling. She made no remark. They dined on everything from quail eggs to the finest venison; from a variety of potatoes to a medley of bread. Needless to say, they dined well, as most French noblemen will do in the 1870s.

"Now we can discuss the activities of the day," Raoul said, ever smiling. She wondered how someone could smile as much as he did.

"I'm going to resume living inside the dormitories at the Opera Populaire." Raoul raised an eyebrow, knowing that she might as well have a large sign saying _Take Me, Phantom_ above her head. She noticed his thought through the look upon his face. "Rest assured, I will be well protected. I'm almost certain Madame Giry will see to it. What are you doing today?"

"I'm not really sure, yet. I just might go back to sleep," he said, chuckling softly. A small smile formed at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm going to dress, and then I'll be leaving." She kissed him and retreated. He dabbed at his mouth with his white handkerchief and left the table. He was completely exhausted to the highest degree, and knew that he would not be able to function without a moment's rest. He told those who worked at his estate to only bother him if it was an emergency, and that emergency should involve Christine. He didn't want to hear of a house down the road on fire.

Christine arrived a few hours later at the doors of the Opera Populaire, surprised to see Madame Giry waiting outside for her.

"Is there something wrong?"

"We've just received probably the most clever and beautiful musical play a mere hour ago. We are to begin rehearsing today. This play is...it's just…genius, is all I can say," she said. Christine raised an eyebrow. If something could make Madame Giry stumble over her words, then it _was_ important.

"Who wrote it?" Christine asked, curious as to who the genius behind the magic is.

"He chose to remain anonymous. He showed particular interest in you, Christine. He said you were to be the leading role." Christine followed Madame Giry inside the Opera Populaire. Christine was handed a copy of the score and she left to find a comfortable hiding place to learn her lead song. The only place she knew of was the dressing room, for the only other person who utilized the room is now lying six feet under in a cemetery somewhere.

She warmed up her voice and began to sing, realizing that there was so much wrong with the way she was singing. It would have been better with her tutor teaching her. She shook her head and wept, knowing that those days were over. The tide had turned three years ago, and both she and the Phantom were different people. What if he never wanted anything to do with her again? How would she face this musical obstacle by herself?

"Where is my Angel of Music?" she sang, still weeping.

_ Wandering child…so lost…so helpless…yearning for my guidance._

"Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me."

_Have you forgotten your Angel?_

"Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, Master." She turned to the mirror that she remembered from three years prior. The edge of the mirror was not cracked slightly. She saw no torch-flame. She doubted that she'd see much of anything, since the room was poorly lit.

_ I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music. _She looked at the mirror hopefully once again, though she saw nothing. She sighed deeply. She was beginning to grow tired of getting her hopes up. She looked down at the dying rose on the vanity that she had left behind.

"Angel of Music, I denied you, turning from true beauty! Angel of Music, my protector! Come to me, strange angel!"

_ Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my far-reaching gaze. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside! _Christine looked once again at the mirror, and found her spirits beginning to lighten. In the mirror she saw a tall figure clad in black with a white half mask covering the right side of his face. He slid the mirror open and in one hand, he held a torch. His other hand was outstretched, almost beckoning Christine to come to him.

_ I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music._ There was a sudden knock on the door. Christine startled, then turned towards the door.

"Christine? Christine!" It was Raoul. She didn't realize that she had locked the door. She looked back at the mirror just to see the Phantom scowl and turn away. He shut the mirror and left, the light of the torch fading away.

"No…" she whispered, a single tear falling down her face. "I just may have lost him, now." She shook her head and rested it in her hands as she sat at the vanity.

"Christine, open the door!"

_ Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph! _

_ Share your voice with me, my Angel, _thought Christine. She knew that if she did not comply, Raoul would be most upset. She had no choice but to unlock the door and permit his entrance.

"Was he in here?" he asked, pushing through and looking around skeptically. "Where is he?"

"Where is who, Raoul?" she asked, confused.

"I heard him in here," he said, still looking around. "Where's that door?" Her brow furrowed. She was lying through her teeth to the man she just might one day spend the rest of her life with, or the rest of his life.

"What door?"

"Three years ago, Madame Giry led me through a door to his dungeons. Where is it?" He looked over at the mirror and smirked.

"There it is!" He pushed at the edge of the mirror, but it wouldn't budge. He didn't know that only the mirror itself was a sliding door.

"There it isn't."

"Raoul, what on earth is the matter?"

"I could have sworn I heard his voice." He continued to fearfully look around.

"I was only in here to practice my lead part in the new production." She pointed to the thin stack of papers.

"What is it called?" She shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't see a title on it." He picked up the score with the lyrics etched below each measure of musical notation. Raoul wasn't worried about the play, he was simply looking for any sign of _O. G._ He found nothing.

"The author chose to remain anonymous. _He_ usually signs O. G. You're making a big deal out of nothing, Raoul," she said. He set the score down and smiled at her.

"Are you hungry?"

"Indeed, I am," she replied, smiling a little.

"Then let's go to supper." She followed him out of the room, and they left to his estate.

_ Angel of Music! Do not shun me...Come to your strange Angel…_


	3. Trois

_**Trois**_

Christine Daae woke the next morning realizing that it was nigh unto noon. She looked around and found all of the ballet dancers bustling about, frantically preparing for the gala. They had rehearsed all day yesterday, while Christine had sat in the dressing room and attempted to learn her parts. Lucky for her, she had an Angel of Music and a grand tutor. Unlucky for her, she had an Angel of Music. She had dreamed of her songs being sung to her, and learned them in her sleep.

"Is that the song you must sing?" Meg Giry asked, the blonde daughter of Madame Giry.

"What song?" She sang a quick version that sounded too much like "The Point of No Return" from _Don Juan Triumphant. _

"It would seem, wouldn't it?" she asked with a small smile. "Who is to play the male role?"

"Him." She pointed to a handsome man in the corner of the dormitories.

"His name is Jacques. He's really nice." Men usually weren't allowed in the dormitories, but he seemed to be one they could trust. He was already clad in his costume, which was a maroon and black suit with a black cape and a black mask. Everyone was to wear masks in this production, except for Christine. She approached him as he concluded his song, which _did_ remarkably sound like "The Point of No Return."

"Christine Daae, I presume?" he asked, not looking up.

"In the flesh and none the wiser," she replied. He grinned at her comment and glanced at her briefly.

"Do you know your parts?" he asked. She nodded.

"Let's rehearse," he said. For the next few hours, they rehearsed, until Madame Giry came in and scolded Christine for not being ready. She raced to her own dressing room and quickly donned the black dress she was to wear. No cosmetics were needed, so she did not apply any. She waited for a comment by the Phantom, but none could be given, for unfortunately, he was off somewhere else, very busy. She was unaware of this fact.

She found herself waiting backstage after a final rehearsal. The theatre was beginning to fill with men and women clad in evening gowns and suits, eagerly awaiting tonight's gala. She warmed up her voice once again, making sure she was ready.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange Angel!" She heard no reply, and the play had begun. She walked onto the stage and looked out at the full house. She sang of love and lust, of life and death. She sang of the time when love was all she had. She longed for it, _dreamed_ of it, and wished only that it would finally be with her. Jacques entered the play, a sense of foreboding following. His character was a serial murderer, whose blood-stained hands were covered with black gloves. Ballet dancers, both men and women alike, danced in the background, singing a warning to the character Christine played. All of them were bearing masks, and not one of them was familiar to Christine. She couldn't get a very good look at them, for she had to keep eye contact with Jacques.

Raoul sat in box five and watched the play through opera glasses. He never missed any of Christine's plays, and he never would. He wanted to make sure she was safe, and he feared the first play he missed would result in the Phantom's chance to strike. He noticed that the man playing the lead role looked a lot like the dreadful Opera Ghost. He scanned the dancers, and spotted one or two males that looked like him. What would he be doing in a play? He should have known better from the ruined production of _Don Juan Triumphant._

Jacques held out his hand, beckoning to Christine. The dancers were telling her not to go, and she was stuck between love and lust. If she went with him, she would love. If she refused, she would be without love, and would lust for him. She went against her wits and fell into his arms. He pulled out a plastic knife that looked very real, and he ran it across her neck. He caught a cleverly hidden pouch on her dress, and she bled from her wounds. He held her closer and whispered inaudible to anyone but her, "The Phantom of the Opera sends his love." He kissed her deeply, and Raoul stood up, confused. This wasn't part of the play. Jacques turned and left the stage, and Christine fell to the floor, playing dead. The dancers crowded around her, singing of sorrow and despair. They lifted her up and carried her off the stage.

Jacques returned when everyone was gone, and sang of his malevolent success. The play closed with the quick funeral of the character Christine played. The curtains closed, and Christine stood up. She looked around at all the dancers, searching for Meg. It didn't help when every single one of them was scattered abroad trying to rid themselves of the uncomfortable costume they wore. She found a tall man with lightly tanned skin and a black mask. He was standing aside, waiting for the crowd to calm so he could change as well.

"Have you seen Meg?" she asked him. He pointed to a blonde girl about twenty feet to Christine's right. She was flirting with the leading male role.

"You did well," he whispered in her ear. She smiled and thanked him, wondering why he was whispering. It was almost impossible to converse backstage at a whisper. She walked towards Meg just as Jacques kissed her softly. She smiled lightly and turned the other way. She felt it was better she did not interrupt. She decided she would speak with the strange man who barely spoke over a whisper. She turned, and noticed that he was no longer there. She noticed a dark haired young mademoiselle standing in his place, looking rather bewildered. In her hand was a red rose with a black ribbon tied to it.

"Where'd he go?" she asked the woman. She looked around briefly and shrugged.

"Christine Daae, right?" she asked. Christine nodded.

"He told me to give this to you. He never spoke above a whisper. Isn't that strange?" she asked, handing her the rose.

"So it would seem," Christine said simply, taking the rose. The woman walked off to chat with some of her better friends. She glanced over towards Meg and noticed that Jacques was gone. The smile on Meg's face told Christine that she was rather content with the previous event. Christine approached Meg with a half smile.

"You seem happy," Christine said.

"I _am_ happy. Jacques really is such a sweetheart," she said, her grin widening. She noticed the rose in her hand. "I see that he finally got it to you." Christine glanced at the rose.

"Did he mention his name?" Meg sighed and shook her head.

"All he said was that he was your Angel." Christine got the feeling that there was more than what met the eye. She felt that there was something that Meg wasn't telling her. She wanted so much to tell her that her Angel was also the Phantom. How would she feel, knowing that she was dancing next to a clever murderer? Christine decided that some things were better left unsaid.

"So tell me about Jacques," Christine said, her inner teenager coming out of her.

"Well, I've only known him for a week or so. We seemed to hit it off well, and he just asked me to supper." Christine smiled at her.

"I'm happy for you," she said. Meg sensed a hint of sorrow in her voice, like she could not be happy.

"_You_ need to be happy for _yourself,_ Christine Daae," Meg said, shaking her finger at her for emphasis.

"I am happy for myself," she lied. Meg sighed and shook her head.

"When you stop lying to yourself, let me know, and I'll see about making you happy again. I miss your smile." Meg turned and walked off. Did she really appear _that_ unhappy? Christine made her way to the dressing room to change into her evening gown. She would be dining with Raoul this evening, and she wanted to look her finest.

_ But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound…_


	4. Quatre

_If you were one of the few who viewed this story before its dramatic changes, then do not fear. Those events you have had the pleasure of reading will take place later in the story. Let's delve in this word play and enjoy the chapters I've rewritten.__ –DCV–_

_**Quatre**_

She left the Opera Populaire and approached the black carriage where Raoul sat, waiting. She knew that this time, he wasn't waiting very long. His expression did not display a sense of impatience. She climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind her.

"You look very dashing, my dear," Raoul said, and kissed the top of her small hand. She rested her head upon his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. He felt her breathing go steady and slow, and he noticed that she was asleep. He kissed the top of her head softly, and the carriage continued.

"Wake up, Christine," Raoul said, shaking her gently. She glanced out the window, and noticed that they were not at his estate.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We've been stopped by someone on horseback. I couldn't get a glimpse of his face." She became slightly alarmed. Raoul noticed her fear and pulled her closer to him. His free hand rested on the hilt of the sword that rested against his leg. He wished he could see what was going on. He could barely hear the exchanging of words.

Christine gasped when she heard the sound of a sword ringing free followed by the sound of something heavy thudding to the ground. Raoul heard the noise too. He opened the door and jumped out. He quickly pulled the sword free and pointed it to the man who had just murdered his coachman. He wore a hood, rendering Raoul's vision of his face incomplete. He looked for a somewhat shine of white, but was unable to see even that.

"Money. Jewels. Anything you've got, and you go free," said the man. Raoul's brow furrowed as he discovered that this man was not who he thought he was. He was simply an unfortunate poor bandit. Raoul pointed his sword towards the man again in emphasis, ready to fight. Christine began to sweat in fear and the heat coming from her fogged the windows. She could not see anything.

"I will give you nothing."

"Then you meet the same fate as him," said the bandit, nodding towards the slain coachman. The bandit struck first, and Raoul quickly parried. The fight did not last long. Raoul stepped inside his defense and drove the blade through him. The bandit fell, never to rise again. Raoul sheathed his sword and opened the carriage door.

"What just happened?" she asked him.

"We were just attacked by a single bandit. Jean-Baptiste is dead." Christine began to weep. She hated when anyone passed away. While she wasn't fond of Carlotta, her death had been a terrible blow.

"I'll drive the carriage, and we'll arrange his burial." Christine nodded. He kissed her and handed her his sword. She took it and set it beside her. It was only a matter of moments before she felt the carriage begin to move. She wondered if Raoul had immediately suspected her Angel of Music as the culprit. She wondered how quickly he changed his mind.

In about an hour or so, they arrived at the estate. It had taken them longer to arrive than it would have usually, and the cooks and maids were alarmed. They saw Jean-Baptiste slumped over in the carriage next to Raoul, and they knew immediately that their reasons for being alarmed were true.

"Oh, my! What happened?" asked the elder cook, who was like the mother Raoul no longer had.

"There was a bandit. We were attacked. I quickly defeated the bandit, or he would have taken Christine. My efforts of saving her from the dreadful Opera Ghost would have been in vain if the bandit had taken her life too," Raoul said. Christine's brow furrowed. Was he just bragging about winning her? He spoke too much, and the excess information was unneeded. She would have to have a long discussion with Raoul, because this was not the first time he had done this. She refused to be a trophy. It was bad enough that simply being with her was slapping her Angel of Music repeatedly in the face, and Raoul may as well have said, "Hey! Look what I have that you don't!"

Christine stepped out of the coach and was immediately swarmed by the people of Chagny.

"Did he hurt you?"  
"Are you okay?"  
"Were you afraid?"

"Raoul, I'm really tired. I think I will be skipping supper," said Christine. Raoul nodded, and inquired about her health.

"I feel fine, I'm just exhausted. It's not everyday one must experience the trials of banditry." Christine retreated without so much as giving Raoul a kiss on the cheek. Raoul did not notice, for he knew that when Christine was tired, it was time for her to sleep.

Christine was not really tired, and she was a little hungry, but she refused to put up with that dreadful game of thirty questions. They were simply trying to form a heroic story around Raoul, and she didn't want to give them any information that might boost his already sky-rocketed ego.

She entered Raoul's room and crawled under the cover of the blanket, and closed her eyes. She didn't want Raoul to suspect that she was angry with him, even though she was.

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light and listen to the music of the night. _

She let her Angel of Music fill her thoughts with songs of darkness and night-time, and slowly she drifted asleep. She was in a deep slumber when Raoul joined her to sleep.

The sun rose, followed closely by Christine. Raoul snored softly and stirred when she left the large bed. She donned a robe and crept past the door and down to the living area. She sat upon the couch and stared about the room at the many painted portraits of Raoul's beloved family.

Raoul was an only child, and his parents never ceased spoiling him. He received many joys other boys of his age could only dream of, and he was always humble. He shared his wealth with everyone else. He hated seeing someone on the side of the street starving with no food, and was quick to offer a hot meal. Christine remembered the house by the sea. She received her first taste of love, and they grew to become childhood sweethearts. Then she left to live at the ballet dormitories, and her father passed. She didn't see Raoul for ages, and when she saw him for the first time in a long time, she noticed that he was not the same person she thought she knew. While he was a kid he was humble and modest, now he's apt to boast of his accomplishments. She was ready to slap him hard across the face after they returned from the destroyed Opera Populaire, for all he did was tell the story of his heroic bravery.

She admired the new portrait of Raoul and herself. Raoul was in a fine green doublet, and she wore an emerald dress. She was seated in front of him, the chair not visible. Raoul's right hand rested upon Christine's right shoulder, and both wore a loving grin. The background was a deep maroon.

She remembered the very day the portrait was painted. She was in a grand mood, and was eager for the experience. The artist painted their faces first, knowing the smiles couldn't be held long.

"You're up early," Raoul said, pulling her from her contemplations.

"I slept heartily," she replied, continuing to study the painting, as if fascinated by the artist's intricate detail. She never learned his name. She noticed something she had not noticed before. The artist did not paint a signature, but instead had painted a red rose in the bottom corner. She found herself trying to remember what the artist looked like, but it was so long ago.

"You're angry at me." He sat beside her and looked at the painting, trying to figure out what she was studying.

"I'm not your trophy." She stood up and left, going straight to her bedroom to change. She would return to the ballet dormitories once again. As she walked to the stables, Raoul chased after her.

"Christine, wait! I never said you were my trophy!"

"Actions speak louder than words, my dear." Christine paid the only other coachman to take her to the Opera Populaire. She left Raoul to ponder his actions.

Christine watched the scenery as it passed by, until trees and snowy plains turned into cobblestone roads and elegant buildings. She paid the coachman a generous tip.

"You do realize that he's following you," the coachman said.

"Yes, Monsieur, I do. He's right over there. Make haste, and return to the estate."

"Good bye, Mademoiselle."

"Christine!" Christine walked to the front door and handed the guard a generous amount.

"See to it that he does not pass this threshold," she whispered.

"Yes, Mademoiselle." Christine headed straight for the dormitories, where the girls twittered happily.

"Hello, Christine!" greeted Salina. Christine smiled, and sat upon her small bed. It wasn't near as comfortable as her bed at the Chagny estate, but she would rather prefer being here than there.

"Why are you here, Christine?" Meg asked.

"Are you saying you don't want me here?" Christine replied, almost offended.

"No, I'm saying that you should be with Raoul. He loves you, and he cannot protect you from here."

"And he cannot claim me as his trophy, either," Christine said angrily. Everyone gasped, as if saying, _how dare he!_

Madame Giry entered, pleased to see Christine in attendance.

"This came for you," she said, and handed Christine a stack of papers bound in black leather with nothing engraved on top.

"What is it?"

"That is a copy of the score from the next play we are to begin rehearsing for. You are to return as the lead role in this one."

"Do you know who wrote it?"  
"I have a good idea, but I won't say unless I'm certain." Madame Giry left, and Christine glanced over the play, reading the lyrics with the music, studying it inside her mind. Pride permitting, she decided it was high time she returned to her teacher.

"I must rehearse this alone," she whispered to the other girls, who nodded. They understood that rehearsing with a bunch of noisy Mademoiselles was virtually impossible. She took the score and left the room, headed immediately to the dressing room, and no one dared stop her. Raoul was still trying to find his way in, even though the guards kept telling him no.

"Please! I must see her! What did she pay you? I'll double it – triple it even!"

"I'm sorry sir, but we cannot let you pass."

"I'm the patron for Pete's sake! Let me through!"

"If you do not leave, we shall have to contact the forces of law." Raoul growled and retreated, defeated. Did Christine really think that he thought of her as a trophy and nothing more? Was he really that much of a moron?

_You alone can make my song take flight…help me make the music of the night…_


	5. Cinq

_**Cinq**_

Christine silently crept to the dressing room she was so familiar with, and made sure that she was not followed. She made a cursory glance around her, knowing that anybody could be hiding behind something. It was not hard to make one unseen in the Opera Populaire.

She locked the door behind her and opened the mirror door. She closed that behind her, and with score in hand, she walked down the familiar stone hallway, unlit and full of cobwebs. She felt something in her voice push her to sing, though she ignored it immediately. She preferred being quiet as a mouse.

She continued down the hall, at last reaching the beginning of a lengthy spiraling staircase. What was the point and purpose in her coming here? She seemed to have forgotten her reasons for acting. She shrugged her thoughts away, figuring that there was no sense in turning back now. She reached the end of the staircase, bearing few beads of sweat. She walked through a long corridor to the very edge of a vast, glassy lake. There she found a small black boat traced with elegant lines of gold. She stood inside the boat and used the long stick to push her through the canals. She admired the darkness surrounding her, and pondered the thought of remaining here for an eternity.

She knew that she could not allow that to happen. She had to see daylight sometimes.

She reached a massive iron gate with a curtain closed on the other side. She had hoped that moving closer to the gate would cause it to rise, but that seemed to not be the case.

"Where is my Angel of Music?" she questioned in song. "Come to me, my Angel of Music." She had no idea how long she had waited there for the gate to rise. She wondered if the Angel of Music on the other side was even alive. Had something happened? Could Raoul have made it down here somehow and slain him before she ever had the chance to see him? The fear of her Angel of Music no longer living caused great fear to fill her soul and she began to weep softly.

"Where are you?" she asked. She wanted, longed for, any form of communication.

_I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music._ The large black curtains pulled back and the gate rose. She smiled weakly and pressed forward, watching as the golden candles appeared out of the lake, their flames lit miraculously. The Angel of Music had pulled the lever, and was now waiting for her to dock. She handed him the dark stick. He took it in his left hand, and held out his right. She grasped his right hand, and he assisted her landfall.

"I've missed you," she said, meaning it. There was an ounce of love deep within her soul for the man that inspired her voice. She wrapped her arms about him, crying into the crook of his shoulder. He did not return the gesture. He waited patiently for her to finish. It seemed he was disinterested in her affection.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, pulling away. He closed his eyes, wondering if he should remind her how many times she's slapped him in the face, or how many times she's shattered his heart and tread on the pieces. He wondered if she knew that all he wanted was to love and be loved, instead of show her off to the world as the trophy he had won. He looked her in her grey eyes and shook his head.

"Do you recall what you said to the Vicomte the night after _Hannibal?_" he asked her. She raised her right eyebrow in question. She did not seem to recall. He sighed deeply, wondering how anybody could not remember.

"He had told you that you were to go to supper with him, and you said—"

"'—no, Raoul. The Angel of Music is very strict,'" Christine finished. "So what are you trying to say?" The Angel of Music grabbed the score from her hands.

"We are to rehearse. You are to nail your parts." He smiled faintly. "This is a grand story of tragedy, and you must learn to show sorrow in this production." He returned the score to her and took a seat behind his large barrel organ fluttered with papers containing musical notation. It was difficult to distinguish the color of the barrel organ, since the Angel of Music was not the tidiest person around.

"Stand here," he said, pointing to the stone ground directly to his left. She did as commanded.

"Open to the fifth page. I will begin playing, and you will begin singing. You should have a hint on tone and rhythm," he said.

"How do you know what to play?" He grinned at her.

"My dear, I am your Angel of Music. I _wrote_ this play." He began with a slow song meant to come off as sorrowful. The character she was to play, Marine, had just witnessed the tragic death of her beloved fiancé.

"What warmth will I feel without his grasp? What's the point in life when all I see is death? Can someone please take away my final breath?" The Angel of Music ceased playing.

"What?" she asked.

"You were off tempo, your voice was too low, and you weren't showing enough emotion. You just watched your fiancé die. Let's try this again." It took a dozen or so more tries, and she was thankful that he was slow-tempered and patient at this moment.

"Now sing your part a few measures later. You are at his funeral, and the pallbearers are lowering his casket," the Angel of Music said, and she nodded. She knew what she was singing was absolute genius, but she only wished he would write more pleasant operas. She knew his soul was dark, and part of it was her fault. Why did she have to mistreat him like that? Why did she have to shatter his love? She began to weep, and the Angel of Music began to smile. He didn't know what had run through her head. He assumed that she was getting more experienced at crying on cue.

"I am all alone; my soul has turned to stone. Where will you be the rest of my life? No thoughts within my mind but thoughts of death!" He growled angrily and slammed his fingers upon the keys. The reverberating sound caused Christine's ears to ring.

"Again!" She sighed deeply. "I'm not the one who has to sing this. Don't give me that attitude, mademoiselle."

"It's getting late, and I'm really tired."

"It's not getting late. It's not even nigh unto noon. Don't use that on me again. Now sing," he said.

After many hours and many tries, she had made it through the majority of the play. He had pushed her hard, and it was beginning to show through her voice.

"Again!"

"I can't sing anymore, love," she said, "My voice is growing hoarse."

"Then have a sip of – what did you just call me?" Christine ran through what she had previously said. Was that a mistake?

"I called you _love,_" she replied.

"Do not call me that unless you can prove to me you mean it. You may return to the dormitories, but I expect you to return tomorrow to finish rehearsing."

_The Angel of Music _is _very strict,_ Christine thought.

"I will return tomorrow." She left him without a goodbye, knowing that he would not return one to her.

When he was certain she was past the canals and at the foot of the staircase, he rested his head in his hands and wept.

"No one would listen, no one but her heard as the outcast hears," he sang. He closed the gate and drew the curtains, then found himself a spot behind an easel, and began yet another work of art to attach to the others nearby.

_Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world…those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…_


	6. Six

_**Six**_

Christine returned to the vacant dormitories and flopped onto her old, small bed with wrought iron head and footboards. She wrapped herself up in her blanket, and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She was _exhausted, _and _he_ expected her to return tomorrow! She knew that his strict teaching was for her own good, but she couldn't help but feel he was pushing her too hard. She wondered what the girls were doing. She sat up and saw Jacques across the room, seated calmly. He was watching her. Did he know that she saw him?

"I've been waiting for you," he said. Why? Why would he do that?

"Me?" Christine asked.

"No, mademoiselle, the lady beside you." Christine foolishly glanced around her. She was alone with this man.

"Why have you been waiting for me?" she asked, her voice _still _hoarse.

"Since the moment I first heard you sing, I've wanted your heart to have as my own," he said. She looked back at him, dumbfounded. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

"I don't want Meg as a lover, I want you!"

"You can't have me, I'm taken," she said coolly.

"By whom? The Vicomte? You paid the guards to ensure he doesn't enter the Opera Populaire." She wondered if he knew of her Angel of Music.

"Yes, by him. I'm angry at him right now, so I wish to not speak with him, but I still love him dearly." Jacques shook his head. He had acted foolishly.

"Have you learned your parts for the new production?"  
"Not all of them, I have been rehearsing." He smiled faintly.

"Your voice tells all." He sat beside her and took her hand.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude," he whispered to her. This song seemed to be her Achilles' heel. Every time she heard it, it made her knees turn to water. He leaned forward and kissed her deeply, caressing the side of her face. Little did the two of them know, Jacques Caritier's days were numbered, and the amount would dwindle rather quickly.

Christine pulled from the kiss.

"Don't ever do that again. He's very strict. He'll kill you."

"The Vicomte de Chagny? Don't make me laugh."

"The Angel of Music," she said, and left. She wondered if he knew who the Angel of Music was.

"The Angel of Music thinks he's the Angel of Death. He's nothing more than a phantom, a Phantom of the Opera. If you honestly think _he _could get rid of me, you are sadly mistaken," he called after her.

"The hour shall see your darkest fears, the Angel knows, the Angel hears," Christine whispered inaudibly.

_I do not recommend you return tomorrow. We'll find some other way to rehearse. _She found it a guilty pleasure enjoying when the Phantom of the Opera contacted her. She nodded, but continued in the direction she was headed. She found a quite place to sing, and practiced those parts despite her hoarseness. It seemed that as she sang, her voice grew better.

_Again! _

She sang the lines she was rehearsing again. After many more hours, she had finally mastered her parts, and went to tell Madame Giry that she was ready to rehearse with everyone else.

A few weeks brought the brand new production of the play that Christine still did not know the title of. She was still angry with Raoul, but told the guards he may enter to watch the performance when the night came in two days.

Richard Firmin received a note from the amiable Opera Ghost (or so the Opera Ghost thought), detailing a few instructions.

_Dear Firmin,_

_I thank you for your payment. I assure you, it will most definitely not be wasted. I have only one order that you seem constantly incapable of following. Box five is to remain empty. The Vicomte is not to occupy it. Failure to comply could result in his death, and possibly yours. _

_I remain your obedient servant._

_O. G._

"What did he want?" asked Raoul, who was waiting outside the Opera Populaire for the hopeless chance that Christine might change her mind.

"You are to remain out of box five. That was all."

"That's it?"

"Isn't box five where you have viewed every single play Christine has performed in?" Firmin asked. He found himself wondering briefly where Andre had wandered off to.

"It is. Where else am I supposed to view the play?"

"There's box six directly below it," Firmin suggested.

"What happens if we reject his demands?"

"You and I will live no more." Raoul sighed.

"Fine. He'll have his way _this_ time. I'm in no mood to fight for my life. So tell me about this production," Raoul said, changing the subject.

"Well, it's a classic tragedy. Christine Daae plays the role of Marine, who had just been engaged to wed her fiancé, Maxime, played by Jacques Caritier. In a nutshell, she discovers who the killer is, and the killer kills her in the end."

"So much for a happy ending. Do you have any idea who might have written it?" Raoul asked. Firmin shook his head.

"The author seems to be well versed in what he does, though. Madame Giry says it is the same man who wrote the other play that was performed before this one."

"How are Jacques and you doing?" Christine asked Meg as they readied for the play.

"Wonderful. He introduced me to his family the other day while you were off rehearsing. Oddly enough, he seemed to disappear after we returned. I found him in the dormitories. He's a clever man, wouldn't you say?"

"You have no idea," Christine muttered inaudibly. "He seems like a fine young man," she said to her.

"I'll marry him. I can't wait until he proposes," she said with a smile. "Meg Caritier…"

_At least I warned him, _Christine thought.

There was no more time for discussion, as the play had just begun. When Christine began her lines, she noticed the Angel of Music in box five and Raoul directly below it. Raoul seemed a bit unhappy that he was not where he usually sat, and the Angel of Music seemed awfully cheery in box five.

The murder of Maxime began. Christine displayed great emotion, as if she had been practicing non-stop with a great tutor for the past few weeks or so. She stole a glance towards the Phantom, and he nodded in agreement. She was doing very well. Jacques was dragged from the scene. He was playing dead. When he disappeared, Christine noticed that box five was now empty. She feared what would happen next. She shook every thought away and continued through the play.

After a dozen or so scenes filled with great word play in the form of song, everyone was beginning to prepare for Act Two. Christine was finishing up her lines at the final scene in Act One. There was a loud scream that Christine knew as Meg.

"No! Why him! What did he do?!" she exclaimed. All cast and crew, Christine included, raced backstage. What everyone saw was more of a horror to Meg than anyone else. There, Christine saw Jacques garroted, hanging from the rafters. His face was a purple-blue, and his eyes were closed. She wondered if the Phantom took the time to close his eyes, or if Jacques was taking a quick nap. She may never know.

_Who scorn his words, beware to those, the Angel sees, the Angel knows…_


	7. Sept

_**Sept**_

Christine debated greatly over whether or not she should tell Meg why Jacques was killed. Christine knew that when jealousy is mixed with anger, it can fuel powerful, even deadly, results. The Phantom did not like Jacques kissing Christine, and punished him severely for his transgression.

Was killing him worth it? It was one simple kiss. Should he have killed him? Christine shook her head. It was all too much.

_I need Raoul,_ she thought, and went from the murder scene to find him. She wondered if the police would bother searching for the Phantom.

Raoul was racing towards backstage where everyone was distressed. Christine intercepted him.

"Raoul, you can't go back there," she said.

"What happened?"

"Come with me, I'll explain." She took his hand and led him to the rooftops. It was one of few places she liked to go and be alone. She enjoyed staring wistfully out to the dark city below.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" asked Raoul.

"The Angel of Music helped me rehearse for my play."

"You mean to tell me you went down there by yourself?" he asked, concerned and a little angered.

"Yes, but only to rehearse! I wouldn't dare do anything else!" He sighed, relieved. He took her in her arms.

"That's not the end of my story…" Christine said. Raoul kissed the top of her head softly and bid her continue.

"After rehearsing a few thousand times, the Angel of Music permitted me to leave, for singing had taken a toll on my voice, and it was beginning to grow hoarse."

"Your voice seems a bit hoarse right now," he said.

"It is," she said smiling. "I went upstairs to the dormitories to sleep. At first glance, the dormitory was empty. I didn't realize that Jacques had been there, and was waiting for me. He told me that since he first heard me sing, he couldn't help but desire my heart. He sat next to me and kissed me. I left quickly, worried for his fate. I knew that the Phantom of the Opera would grow angry at him, and that the simple event might have caused Jacques his life. Alas, he was discovered after his part hanging from the rafters backstage."

"He shouldn't have kissed you," Raoul said.

"I don't know what to do about Meg. She loved him dearly, though he not as much to her. She must be devastated at seeing his death. Should I tell her about what happened?"

"Not now. You should wait until a later time to share that with her. Right now she may take it as jealousy, and accuse you of trying to steal him from her." Christine looked Raoul longingly in his gorgeous blue eyes. He smiled at her and pulled her closer to him, their lips meeting in a dance of tongues.

_Over and over you shatter my heart. Over and over you tear me apart._

Christine ignored the Phantom, and continued to prove her love for Raoul through this deep, passionate kiss.

"Let's go home. The dormitories are beginning to grow stuffy," Christine said after catching her breath.

"Christine, I love you." She smiled at him, and they left through the door. The Phantom appeared from behind a large statue, and made sure they were gone.

"This is the last time. You will never win my heart again. I have shunned your voice, I refuse your love. Kindness and compassion have left me. Let it be war upon you both."

Christine woke the next morning, stark naked under the cover of the blankets, Raoul's arm wrapped about her. She reminisced over last night's events, and smiled evilly to herself. She reached for her robe that was piled on the floor amidst Raoul's clothes. When she grabbed it, she pulled it about her and walked to her bedroom. She rummaged through her closet and found a midnight blue dress. She donned her clothes, grateful that Raoul's wealth brought her many things. She didn't really need all of it, but Raoul usually won't take no for an answer.

She walked to the living area and sat upon the solid white couch, her eyes falling once again upon the painting of Raoul and her. She tried to recall the artist's face, but couldn't. Was he cloaked? She noticed a dozen dying roses with black ribbons wrapped about them on the coffee table.

"Elaine?" she called. The elder cook came to her request.

"Yes, Mademoiselle?"

"Where did these roses come from?" she asked.

"A courier sent them from an anonymous admirer. They'd look so much better if Rosalina had taken better care of them. She was never known to have much of a green thumb."

"Thank you, Elaine. I'll allow you to resume your business."

"You're welcome, Christine. The Vicomte will be waking soon, I must prepare breakfast. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'm fine, but thank you though," she said. Elaine left. It was not long before Raoul made his silent entrance.

"Where do these roses keep coming from?" he asked, embracing her and kissing her passionately.

"An unknown admirer. I don't particularly care for who they're from. Let's say they're from you," she said.

"I always adore pretending," he replied, smiling. She realized that the time to accept his proposal was nigh. She would soon no longer have the Phantom heavy on her mind.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," Elaine said entering the room, "you're breakfast is ready." He nodded to her and stood up.

_I see you've disowned me, my dear. Well, two can play that game. You'll come to find I've disowned you._

Christine felt a chill through her spine. She was no longer in the Phantom's favor. She sat beside Raoul at the large table. Raoul bid for the cooks and maids to attend breakfast this time. He loved their company. They hastily readied the rest of the table, and soon the room was filled with polite chatter. Raoul touched Christine's hand, and she felt the warmth of his smile.

Christine had just finished her first course when a courier arrived at the door. One of the maids went to answer.

"Christine? It's for you," she said. Christine stood up and intercepted the maid, gently taking the note. She turned it over, just to see if there was a large, red, wax skull sealing the envelope.

The envelope was unsealed. She opened it and began to read, horrified at its contents.

_Dear Christine,_

_I apologize greatly for interrupting, but I find that matters are more important. Jacques's funeral is today and I'm not sure I want to go. I can't bear to watch them lower him. Now that I've experienced life with him, life without him seems unthinkable. Oh, mother will be so upset! I don't know if I have the strength to bring this on myself. Where's the Phantom's lasso when you need it? _

_P. T. O._

Christine turned the letter over, one hand holding the note, and the other to her mouth, horrified.

_I'm so sorry to bring this on you, but you are the only one I can turn to. You are the only one who will understand. I want to die. My time has come. I can see it. I can taste his cool touch. I only lack a method, and you seem to be in constant contact with your Angel. Tell him to come to me. Tell him to bring his lasso._

_Meg Giry_

"What is it?" Raoul asked, seeing her expression.

"It's from Meg. We _must_ see her," Christine said. She handed Raoul the note, and he scanned over it quickly. After finishing, he let the note fall from his hand. It fluttered peacefully to the ground, and one of the maids was quick to pick it up.

"You're in constant contact with him?" he asked.

"It's not constant. He sings to me in my dreams and helps me rehearse. Though I have to say, last night was dreamless."

"Don't go to him with this request. I can only take so many dead people," Raoul said.

"I can't. I seem to have lost his favor. He's disowned me."

"Disowned you?"

"He thinks I've disowned him."

"Well, I would most certainly hope you have. It is about time," Raoul said.

"You don't understand. Who's going to calm the storm when he's pushed to kill and kill again?"

"I hope he stays in his lair and withers away. I hope he dies," Raoul said.

"Raoul! I don't care who it is, you do not wish death upon anyone!" Christine turned on her heels and walked to her bedroom, donning a milk white dress. She brushed her hair briefly, hoping to make it appear neater. She gave up after a moment.

"Christine, I'm sorry!" Raoul exclaimed as she raced down the stairs to the door to the stables.

"I've no time for apologies. I must save someone's life." Christine left and paid the snoozing coachman to take her once more to the Opera Populaire.

Without a moment's hesitation, she raced to the dormitories, knowing she wouldn't find Meg there.

_She won't die by my hands. I don't kill on cue._

If he had disowned her, why was he still contacting her? She sighed, relieved a little. She hoped that the Phantom's lasso was her only option. Maybe he could save her life simply by not providing the option to die.

All of the girls were in the dormitory, save Meg.

"It's about time you showed up," said Salina.

"Where is she?"

"The _Chapelle._"

Christine thanked them and raced down the stairs to the _Chapelle, _where she could smell the faint scent of a smoldered candle. Christine thought quickly.

_Try the rooftops. Watch her die._

Christine gasped, and used the last of her energy to run up the staircase to the rooftop. There she saw Meg standing at the very edge, her arms spread for balance. Standing next to her was a dark figure, his back turned to Christine.

"No, Meg!" Christine shouted. Meg glanced towards her, along with the figure. She learned quickly with horror that the Phantom had lied to her. He was assisting her death.

"I must, Christine. I must see him," she said.

"Suicide won't bring you to him."

"No, but murder will. Tell my mother I love her dearly. I love you as the sister I never had. Good bye, Christine," she said.

"Don't cheat the system! It won't help in the end!" Christine ran towards her just as she nodded to the Phantom. She stopped, not knowing what had stopped her. She watched the as the Phantom placed his dark, gloved hand at the small of her back, and pushed hard. Christine watched her fall. He turned to see her, and she saw with horror that there was a malevolent smirk upon his face. He was not the same artist she knew before.

"Angel of Music, you deceived me," she sang, tears falling. There was a flash, and she was blinded by a cloud of smoke. In a mere second, he was gone.

"Farewell, my fallen idol and false friend," she whispered, the tears continuing to glide down her face. She walked slowly to the door. How could he do that to her? She passed through the threshold and collapsed on the ground, letting unconsciousness claim her. The pain hurt so badly. She hoped that something would take her life before she woke. Why couldn't it be her instead of Meg?

_You've past the point of no return…_


	8. Huit

_**Huit**_

Raoul came to the Opera Populaire after Christine. It has been three hours since he last saw her. He noticed many people huddled in a circle of despair, and he feared the worst when wondering what had happened. When he heard Madame Giry cry out in despair for her daughter, he knew immediately that Christine was too late. He looked up towards the stone statue that towered over the rooftop, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He raced to the door of the Opera Populaire, but was halted by the guards.

"I'm afraid you cannot enter," he said.

"Don't tell me this is about Christine," Raoul said angrily.

"She said that you could enter to see the production. She did not say that you were permitted to come and go as you please," the guard said.

"Then you can arrest me." Raoul pushed through.

"Hey!" Raoul raced to the places he knew Christine loved to hide, starting with the _Chapelle. _He knew she hadn't been there once he entered. The candle over Gustave Daae's name looked like it had not been lit in a few months. He headed in the direction of the dressing room, stopping halfway.

"She said he disowned her. She wouldn't seek solace in the dressing room where the door to his lair is located." Raoul shrugged and headed in that direction anyway. It wouldn't hurt just to check and make sure. He opened the door and knew by the darkness that she had not been there either. He saw the vanity that she often sat behind, and immediately looked for any sign of the Phantom. He knew she had been lying the whole time about the roses. He knew who they came from. There was no rose on the vanity, nor was there one anywhere in sight.

He sat behind the vanity and looked at himself. Where else could she be?

He recalled a very special moment three years past on the snow covered rooftop after the poor drunkard was hung during _Il Muto. _They shared a song. They shared their first kiss. That memory was etched into his mind. He remembered proposing to her months later. He remembered feeling a little upset when she changed her mind a year after the proposal. He would wait for her hand an eternity, if that's what it would take.

He climbed up the two or three flights of stairs to the door leading to the rooftop, and noticed that it was wide open. He stepped out and looked around, seeing nothing. He stepped back in and noticed something shine on the floor. He looked down and saw a brooch he had give to Christine as a gift. It was in the shape of a lover's knot, and she wore it quite often. He knew she was here earlier. He could still smell the fragrance she loved to wear. The scent dissolved quickly. It wasn't long ago. What happened? Where did she go?

"There he is!" someone yelled. He looked in the direction of the sound, and saw the guard he had pushed through..

"Not good," he whispered. He glanced around, testing his options in his mind. None were favorable. The only way out was the door to the rooftop, and that option led to a dead end. If he was incarcerated, he couldn't rescue Christine if she needed it.

"Don't fight us, Monsieur le Vicomte. We'll make this a painless process with your cooperation." Raoul looked around once more.

"She could be in danger. What if she needs me?" he asked.

"You can find her once you've served your time." Raoul succumbed to their demands, and bystanders outside were shocked to witness the Vicomte de Chagny led forcibly by the guards to a black carriage. He would be going to a large prison not far from the opera house. All he could think of was where Christine could be. He entertained many places inside his mind, but none seemed to work. He was unaware that the only place she could not be was precisely the one place she was located.

Christine woke, but kept her eyes shut firmly. She felt soft, red velvet against her warm face, and cuddled against it, longing for warmth. She felt chilled. It was a feeling that wouldn't seem to go away. She turned on her back and stretched her arms out, her left hand touching something warm. She wanted the warmth, and rolled in its direction, embracing it. She kept her eyes shut and fell asleep once more.

Raoul sat in his cell in prisoner's attire, knowing with disgust that he would be stuck here for three weeks. He stared longingly out the barred window. If he could only escape…

"Hey, we've got a Vicomte in our midst!" one prisoner exclaimed.

"Really? Where is he?" another asked.

"Right next to your cell to your left."

"Monsieur le Vicomte!" said the prisoner to Raoul's right. He ignored him.

"Oh, come on! We're just having fun! Don't ruin our party."

"Hey, it's Remy's target! He said he'd use his wealth to get us out of here. What happened to Remy, Vicomte?"

Raoul bowed his head, already tired of the inmates he would be spending quality time with for the next three weeks. He smirked evilly, and turned to the man who asked him so mockingly.

"He killed my coachman as we were headed to my estate with my—" Raoul did not know the proper term from Christine, and felt childish saying _girlfriend._ "—lover."

"Way to go Remy! How much stuff did he steal from you?" asked the man happily.

"Nothing. I killed him. I thought he was someone else, this man who's pulled her further and further away from me, forcing me to pull her back. I don't know how much longer she'll hold onto me. Three weeks in this cell just might be enough time for him to convince her. It may be over," Raoul said. He feared he had said too much. This wasn't therapy. This was a _prison._

"Man, I'm so sorry," said the prisoner in the cell to Raoul's left. "That has to suck."

"You have no idea."

Christine opened her eyes, no longer able to permit sleep to claim her. The velvet feel was the red feather-stuffed pillow her head had rested on. She was in a familiar place, but she couldn't seem to put her finger on precisely where. Her arms were wrapped around a warm figure. She sat up and discovered to her horror that she was down in the dungeons lying next to the Phantom of the Opera. She quickly tried to recall anything that might have happened, and hoped — prayed that he hasn't done the unthinkable to her. She couldn't remember anything after reentering the Opera Populaire through the rooftop door. She remembered wishing that it was her that died instead of Meg. She gasped, realizing that not only was she lying next to Raoul's bitter rival, but she was lying next to a _murderer._ As far as she knew, this was his fourth kill, and it was four too many. Buquet may have deserved what he received slightly, but he still shouldn't have been killed.

The Phantom stirred awake and sat up. He had taken his mask off to sleep, and she saw the horrid deformity on the right side. He seemed to have forgotten she was with him, because when he noticed her presence, he was quick to cover that side up with his right hand. He stood up and walked past the bed to an area that held a mirror with gold trim around it, and three porcelain wig rests. He was quick to put on the jet black wig he wore the most, making sure it fit nice and snug. He put on his white half mask and donned his black robe that hung over a mahogany chair. The emerald green embroidery on the back betwixt his shoulder blades shone brightly in the candle-lit catacomb. He took a seat behind his barrel organ, playing previously composed works he had created over his years. He seemed to have, once again, forgotten Christine's presence.

But did he really forget, or was he simply ignoring her? She should be ignoring _him, _he murdered her best friend.

"I don't like you!" she yelled, but he couldn't hear her. She didn't like his failure to notice her.

"I'm going to jump in the lake and drown!" she exclaimed, standing up.

"Go right ahead, mademoiselle. I'm not stopping you," he said. "Though I must remind you that the water is a little over knee deep all the way to the gate, so drowning yourself may prove to be rather difficult."

_He thinks this is humorous,_ she thought to herself. He continued to pour music from his fingertips. She walked to him, curious at the sounds he was making.

"Are you composing?" she asked.

"This is pre-written."

"By whom?"

"By yours truly," he replied, not stopping. She sat beside him on the bench. She wondered where Raoul was.

"Where's Raoul?" He stopped playing and looked at her. She immediately wished she hadn't asked.

"In prison," he replied.

"What ever for?" she asked. Raoul was not the type to get thrown into prison.

"You failed to mention to the guards that he was once more permitted to come and go inside the Opera Populaire. He came looking for you, and they caught up to him. He's in for three weeks for trespassing." A single tear slid down her face as she thought of all of the horrible stories Joseph Buquet told of inmates in prison.

"He found your brooch near the door to the rooftop. You had dropped it when I picked you up." Christine patted the left side of her head, noticing that he was telling the truth. Her lover's knot brooch was not there.

_At least he found it,_ she thought.

"So does that mean I'm stuck here for three weeks?" she asked.

"You're stuck here until I release you." He smirked evilly and she frowned. She wondered if he would let her go in three weeks. Maybe he'd release her today. It's difficult to tell his next move. He turned his attention once more to his barrel organ, and the lair was soon filled with the sound of sweet music.

She realized that he was no longer paying any attention to her. She didn't like his ignorance. She loved the sounds she heard, and admired his fingers moving up and down the keys, each sound sweet to her ears. She could ruin it. He wouldn't like it. She pushed one key and threw him off entirely. One key ruined the sound.

"You now have my undivided attention. What is it you want?" he asked angrily.

"Well, now that I have it, I'm happy." She smiled widely. Her smile was contagious. He found her naivety humorous. She was like a little child sometimes. He couldn't argue. He seemed the same way every once in a while. Alas, there was a time for laughter and play, and there was a time for silence. He was not in the mood for laughter, though she was quickly changing his mind.

_I thought he hated me,_ she thought. _Why is he smiling?_ Christine left the bench and walked to his miniature gallery, where his works of art were splayed on a table and attached to the wall. Each work of art depicted her in varying poses and mediums. There was one in particular that he seemed to be working on, and it was near completion. It was a three quarter view of her face, with darkness around her. She was only visible from her shoulders up. Her expression bore seriousness. Off to the side he had scrawled something in white, and she had a difficult time deciphering it, though she managed.

_I'll stare forever and love whatever breaks my heart._

_That explains it,_ she thought. She glanced towards him. He was now composing, blank scores in front of him. He must have found inspiration. He didn't see her admire the portrait. She glanced at the other works, and decided that his newest one was his greatest.

After admiring the art, she came to a sudden realization. _She could learn to love him._ She heard the sound of music cease.

"I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world. No one would listen," he sang.

"I listened," she said, her attention turning form the art to his torment. She came to him, walking slowly and gracefully. "I'll always listen." She was unknowingly teasing his senses. He turned to watch her, his eyes bearing a sense of longing. She stopped directly in front of him and caressed the left side of his face with her right hand. He closed his eyes and turned into the gentle touch. She pressed his head against her stomach, his right ear against her naval. She could feel his breath upon her. He was breathing heavily.

"Please…" he pleaded barely above a whisper, "…please…please…don't take it easy on me…just make it harder to breathe…" She ran her hand across his back softly, her fingertips barely touching fabric. She knelt, controlling her height until her eyes were level with his. She gently touched the left side of his face, never forgetting the longing in his eyes. She slowly, teasingly, closed the gap between their faces, and showed him the intricate and delicate dance of tongues.

He pulled away, every breath had left him and he was catching more. She allowed him a moment. She gently grasped his jaw and turned his face to her left, his masked deformity facing away from her. She whispered into his ear, "I'll never stop 'til I make you forget who you are." He wrapped his arms about her, never wanting her to go.

"I must wed him, you know," she said somberly. He pulled away and looked at her. She stared into the longing look in his eyes.

"…I know…" he whispered. He held a secret inside of him that she should know, but he dared not to tell. The secret was regarding her lover. The secret would ruin her. She gracefully kissed the top of his head.

"The mirror," he said, still breathing heavily, "over there. It leads to the unknown door outside Madame Giry's room. It saves a lot of time." She nodded and made her exit. When he was certain she was gone and out of earshot, he whispered to himself, "I'll stare forever and love whatever breaks my heart."

_Then, at last, a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, "I hear you. I hear your fears, your torment, and your tears." _


End file.
